Stranger than Fiction
by pinkskyline
Summary: Lip wanted to shake the hand of any man who would go pick Mickey Milkovich up from prison and supervise his doctorate. It was a pretty nutty thing to do. The man might be one of those half-crazy geniuses or something.
**Warnings: So much swearing. Drug use. Just pot.**

 **The premise of this story, that Mickey got educated in prison, is technically possible (lots of people get degrees in prison), and the fact that a "philanthropy dude" paid for it all is about as likely as a first year university student getting his education paid for by the friend of a guy in the registrar's office (like Lip did). So this could be crack, because it's pretty unlikely, or just a totally realistic story. Not sure. You decide.** **Lip's perspective, because it's funnier that way.**

Lip was clearing his things away from the lecture hall when he heard someone in the doorway.

"You robbing the place?"

Lip looked up in alarm. He knew that voice. "Mickey?" he asked, his voice high with disbelief.

"In the flesh," he said.

It was actually Mickey. He looked pretty cleaned up, for Mickey, although not as squeaky clean and buttoned up as he had been when he'd been with Ian and working that moving van scam. He was wearing clean, tight jeans and a Blackhawks hoodie. He had his hands in the kangaroo pocket and was leaning against the doorjamb.

"What are you doing here?"

"The stooge who picked me up from prison wanted to give me a tour or some shit," Mickey said.

"Why would someone from the university pick you up from prison?"

"I caught up with my reading I got my GED, and then there was this pilot project and this philanthropy dude paid for me to get my degree and masters by correspondence in prison. Fucked up, right?" Mickey asked.

"Shit, man. I didn't even know you knew how to read, no offense. After all the shit you pulled, all the crimes, the juvy, the actual fucking prison, we're both at the same place? So what are you doing here, now? Wait, please tell me you're not a doctoral candidate," Lip said.

"Sorry, I _am_ a doctoral candidate. And you forgot the fact that I don't have any student loans and you do. I mostly did the whole school thing because they said it might get me out early—and hello, here I am five years later, out after only serving a third of my time—but it turns out after I actually started to give a shit and tried to get good at reading, I am actually pretty good at this stuff."

"No shit," Lip said.

"So you're like a professor? Ain't that like letting the fox guard the hen house? Tell me the truth, how many coeds have you banged since you started?"

Lip grinned. "There _is_ something very sexy about the academic world," he said.

"I don't think so. In fact, all those big words my Profs emailed me over the years? Total boner killers," Mickey said. "I don't know what's wrong with _you_."

"What the fuck is your masters even in?"

"Sociology. I wrote about my experiences as a gay man in prison for my master's thesis. They always say write what you know, right?"

"Like you're the average gay man in prison," Lip said.

"Whatever. Shit got me out in five years," Mickey shrugged.

"I thought you were a hired thug for the Russian mob," Lip said.

"Yeah, and you'd think they'd have all kinds of people they'd want roughed up or killed. But turns out generally people try to avoid pissing off the Russian mob. I mean, I still did my part but it didn't take up a lot of my time."

"You still married to Svetlana?"

"She wants to get her citizenship, and then get a divorce, so yeah, we're married, but not for long. I'm staying with her right now. I'm good either way. I doubt I'm going to be getting married to anyone else, so what the fuck does it matter?"

"How's your kid?"

"He's good. He's a sweetheart, actually."

"You seen Ian?"

"Why would I?"

Lip didn't answer, but the look on Mickey's face said it all. The thought of Ian pained him, even after all this time. Lip hadn't been sure whether or not Ian had been visiting Mickey in prison. He guessed now he knew. Lip hadn't believed Ian at first when he said that Mickey cared about him, but he'd seen the proof first hand when Ian had been sick, and it looked like Mickey still had feelings for Ian.

"I found you," a middle aged, fussy looking man said, grabbing hold of Mickey's arm.

"I wasn't really hiding," Mickey said dryly.

"But you were finding your way around, I see. Making friends with your future colleagues?"

"Actually, we grew up together," Lip said. He brushed the chalk off his hands and went to shake the man's hand. He wanted to shake the hand of any man who would go pick Mickey Milkovich up from prison and supervise his doctorate. It was a pretty nutty thing to do. The man might be one of those half-crazy geniuses or something. "I'm Philip Gallagher. You Mickey's doctoral adviser?"

The older man took his hand. "Yes. I'm Dr. Thad Kline. I've heard some crazy stories about this guy when he was growing up. He was exaggerating, wasn't he?"

"Did he tell you the one where he made a girl eat a cockroach at knifepoint?"

"Everybody did that shit when they were eight, Gallagher," Mickey said, rolling his eyes.

"My neighbour used to call him the dirtiest white boy in America," Lip said. "He used to look like he'd just crawled out of a grave."

"You want me to tell your doctoral adviser all the shit I know about you?" Mickey asked. "Cause I think between the two of us, you're probably the one who would be the most ashamed."

"Mutually assured destruction," Lip said, nodding.

"I don't know. Most of the shit I did is already part of the public record. So no one's really going to be surprised. I don't know if we can really say that about you," Mickey said, smirking.

"I'm really happy to see you know someone on staff, Mickey. And you thought I was crazy for suggesting you work here! You're going to fit right in. Maybe you'll see him at the grad student mixer tomorrow evening?"

"I ain't going to no mixer, Thad. I never agreed to that shit," Mickey said.

Thad laughed lightly. "You'll love it. It's a good place to make contacts. I'm sure Philip is going, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm going. Hope I see you there, Mick," Lip said. As he watched Mickey go, he was surprised to realize that he really did hope Mickey would be there. Weird.

Lip showed up to the grad mixer early; he was hoping to get in, make nice with the others in his department, and get out as quickly as possible. Maybe if he got out of there early enough he could hook up with one of the girls he was seeing.

He'd been schmoozing for about an hour when he saw Mickey. He was dressed nicer than Lip had ever seen him, holding a beer, and appeared to be engaged in some polite conversation with a pretty young woman with thick glasses. He also looked bored as fuck.

Lip got out of his conversation and walked over. "Hey Mickey," he said.

"Yo Lip. You mixing?"

Lip was confused for a minute before he realized that Mickey was just referring to the fact that the organizers had lamely called the party a mixer like it was 1952 or something. He rolled his eyes and gestured toward the girl with his beer. "Who's this?"

"Jessica. She's in my department. Jess, this is Lip. He's a player, don't even," he said.

"A player? Really?" Lip asked dryly.

"The fuck would you call it?"

Lip shrugged, grinning. There was something about hanging with Mickey that made him feel like he was home in his living room or back at the Alibi. The cadence of the neighbourhood in his voice, maybe—he had the vocabulary, definitely. Lip had tried his best not to be insecure—or at least not to look it, but sometimes he still felt like an imposter in this rarified world. How the hell must Mickey be feeling?

A couple days earlier, he'd been in prison.

"Are you actually going to be teaching classes and grading papers? Like seriously?"

"There's like a bridge program they worked out. I got to take a couple of classes to catch up this semester and they want me on the Ph. D. track after Christmas. I think there's some people who would rather I flunk out, you know? I'm kind of a social experiment at this point but people can't outright kick me out because my thesis is kind of famous."

"Ian always said you were smart," Lip said. It was true; Ian had claimed a couple of times that Mickey was actually a lot smarter than Ian was but that Mickey had no impulse control, didn't care about succeeding, and hated school. Lip hadn't believed it, but it shouldn't have surprised him. Mandy had always been bright, too.

"How's Mandy?"

"She's okay. She's still working at shitty diner jobs. She's dating a nice guy. Well, he's okay. He's better than Kenyatta. Or you," Mickey said.

Lip took a swig of beer. "A ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one."

"So tell me about Mickey when he was younger," Jessica said.

"He once tried to make me eat dog shit," Lip said.

Mickey smiled nostalgically. "Yeah, and if that teacher hadn't a walked by, I would have got away with it, too."

Jessica looked between them, slightly alarmed, and then laughed unwillingly. Lip was fairly certain she thought they were kidding.

To Lip's surprise, he started to hang out with Mickey quite a bit. Every couple of weeks they'd meet at grad functions or even at the library, and they kind of realized without ever discussing it, that maybe they were friends. Sharing a similar background and feeling so out of place in the academic world, it probably would have been stranger if they hadn't been friends.

A few months later in the Gallagher kitchen over a surprisingly sumptuous Thanksgiving spread, Lip was telling a story and dropped Mickey's name without even thinking.

"…and then Mickey's like, rich-bitch's got a tooth ache? Big fucking deal," he said.

"You have a friend named Mickey?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, no, it's your Mickey. I mean Mickey Milkovich," Lip said.

"Why would you be talking to Mickey? Wait, isn't Mickey still in prison?"

"He got out early because he got his fucking masters. Can you believe that shit? Those correspondence courses must be a joke, right?" Lip asked. The question fell flat. The others sitting around the table were all looking at Ian like he was going to fall apart or explode. Lip hadn't really talked to Ian about Mickey in years, but Ian had had plenty of boyfriends, serious and otherwise. Lip wasn't really sure why he seemed upset.

Ian looked strangely vulnerable. "Mickey got an education in prison," he said flatly.

"Yeah, he's on a Ph. D track if you can believe it. I mean, that doesn't mean that he's actually going to go through with it. He says he's just scamming the system into letting him out of prison early or something," Lip said.

"How long has he been out?"

"Since like, mid-September."

"Did he ask about me?"

Lip hesitated, then finally said, "Not really."

Ian got up and went upstairs abruptly, and Fiona rolled her eyes at Lip. "Nice one, Lip," she said.

"He broke up with the guy more than five years ago. How was I supposed to know Mickey was he who must not be named all of a sudden?"

"Jesus, Lip. Even I know Mickey's the love of Ian's life and I can't even remember the guy," Liam said.

Lip looked around. Debbie was nodding, but Fiona rolled her eyes. "Love of his life? Please. No one wants to hear that the deadbeat thug they broke up with because he was in prison is now better educated then they are. Ian works at the Gap, Lip."

"He's the manager," Lip said.

"Still. I mean, Mickey goes to jail and gets a fucking degree? _I'm_ fucking jealous, and he's not my ex," Fiona said.

"I guess. But what am I supposed to do, never talk about him? Not be his friend? I'm a grown man. I can be friends with my brother's ex, can't I? I mean, this isn't high school."

"Maybe just don't rub it in his face, or like, ambush him with it. Maybe he was more surprised than anything," Debbie said.

Lip nodded. "I'll go talk to him."

Ian was smoking a joint at their old window, and he passed it over to Lip. "Carl's got some good shit," he said.

"Sorry if I…I didn't think you'd care. I would have told you about Mickey being out, but I thought you wanted to forget about him," Lip said.

"I mean, I _wanted_ to," Ian said. "Doesn't mean I could."

Lip nodded. "Look, maybe Mick never asked about you, but he…I know he still cares. I talk about you and he gets…sad. I know if he thought you wanted to see him he'd be into it."

"Oh, you _know_ this, do you?" Ian said. "Mickey doesn't…he wouldn't let pride get in the way. If he wanted me, he'd just come get me. Or at least try to. And he hangs out with you so he could get in touch with me any time he wants, you know?"

"You want him back?"

Ian took the joint back and took a drag. "I don't know. Maybe I want the option to want him back."

"Why didn't you visit him in prison, then?"

Ian sighed. "It was really hard for me. I'm not made for that. I couldn't even be faithful to him when he was right there with me, taking care of me and loving me and giving me everything I ever wanted. I knew I couldn't live up to long distance and no touching ever. Stolen conversations supervised by men with guns. I couldn't wait for him."

"Well, you could have visited him as a friend."

"Whose side are you on?" Ian asked. He lit a cigarette and took a drag. "I thought if I saw him regularly it would keep me from moving on. I guess I might as well have just visited him. I'm fucking single, missing him, and working in retail, and somehow even though he just got out of prison he's got an advanced degree and a bright future. When exactly did Mickey get too good for me?"

"He's not too good for you," Lip said. "The more I hang out with rich, educated assholes, the more I realize that there's really no difference between them and every other asshole. I mean, fucking Frank was right about that, if nothing else. And Mickey isn't even all that different from how he used to be. You're both doing really good, Ian. You're stable and happy and somewhere along the way it looks like Mickey learned to think before he does something crazy. You two could really make it work this time. Why don't you call him if you want to see him? Maybe the ball's in your court, you know? He thinks you don't give a shit about him," Lip said.

Ian shrugged. Lip didn't push it. Ian was a stubborn, determined guy, and if he wanted Mickey back, he didn't need Lip's help.

He wondered, though, if Ian's decision to come stay with Lip at his shitty apartment near the campus for a week had anything to do with him wanting to see Mickey. He didn't have to wait long to see what would happen, although he wasn't trying to play matchmaker. It wasn't that he didn't like Mickey or didn't want Ian to be with him. He just wasn't sure they were the best mix. They seemed to get each other in trouble as much as they kept each other out of it. So he wasn't going to discourage them getting back together, but he wasn't about to set them up, either. If they got together on their own, well, then that was out of his hands—of course that wouldn't stop him from taking all the credit for them reuniting at their wedding one day.

He took Ian to the grad club for a drink, knowing that, although there wasn't a function, it was a night of the week when Mickey was frequently there. The place wasn't packed; there was probably sixty tables in the place and only about twenty were full, and the one Mickey was sitting at was the loudest.

"Hey Gallagher," a mutual friend named Andy said as they walked in.

Lip saw Mickey's face the moment Mickey saw Ian; he was watching for it. Mickey lit up. His reaction was spontaneous and unguarded and kind of irresistible. Seemingly without conscious thought he stood up and walked over, and without saying a word, leaned in and hugged Ian tight. Ian hugged him back and murmured something in his ear, and then they walked out together.

Lip sat down at the table.

"What the hell just happened?" Andy asked. "Mickey was in the middle of a story. Middle of a sentence, actually. He left a full beer."

Lip helped himself to Mickey's abandoned glass. "I don't know," he said. "I just hope they're not going to fuck in my bed. I mean, I'd hate to go to sleep every night thinking about how my brother fucked the guy who once dragged me across the school yard by my underwear in there."

"That was your brother?"

"Him and Mickey, they're…it's a whole thing."

"You okay with your little brother dating an ex-con?"

"If it's Mickey," Lip said, shrugging.

Andy nodded like he understood, but Lip was sure he didn't. He thought Lip didn't mind Ian with Mickey because Mickey was going somewhere in life, that he wouldn't have been okay with Ian dating Mickey if he'd skipped the higher education, gotten out of jail and gone right back into his schemes and scams. But it wasn't that. Ian and Mickey were just kind of something you couldn't argue with, whether they were good for each other or not.

When he got back to his apartment, Lip was relieved to see that neither of them were there. He sent Ian a text asking him if everything was good, and quicker than he would have expected Ian sent one back that said everything was great.

It was a few days later that the lovebirds actually came up for air enough to realize he even existed, and when they did, Ian invited him to breakfast.

Mickey and Ian were already seated when he walked in the diner. They were sitting close together on the same side of the table, and he sat down across from Ian. Ian told Lip they'd ordered for him but the place was packed and it would probably be a while.

Lip took a sip of the lukewarm coffee they'd ordered him. "So, did he play hard to get?" he asked, looking at his brother.

"No," Ian said with laughter in his voice, "he really didn't."

"You two good?"

The look Mickey leveled at Ian would have made a lesser man weep. Ian took his hand and looked right back, and the honest emotion between the two of them made Lip feel strangely ashamed; not because he felt like he was intruding, but because he knew he'd never been so nakedly open with anyone in his life. They were brave. Really brave, especially considering how often and how badly they'd hurt each other before. "We're good," Ian said.

"Ian's going to move in with us. Svetlana's over the moon. You know how she likes money coming in and free babysitting," Mickey said.

"What about your job? Your apartment?"

"I got a transfer. There's malls here, too. And I'm subletting my place for now. We'll see what we want to do when the lease is up," Ian said.

It was both more and less reckless than Lip had expected. He smiled. "I'm glad. This way we can hang out more, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, absolutely," Ian said enthusiastically.

Something about Ian's voice set off alarm bells for Lip. "Did you get your meds from my place?" he asked.

He knew he'd fucked up the second the words left his mouth. Ian's lips drew tight and the ease of the past few moments disappeared. "Fuck you, Lip. I can't be happy when I get back together with the guy I've loved since I was seventeen years old? I must be so irresponsible that I'm off my meds because I cracked a smile, right? Sorry, I can't be an emotionless zombie all the time just to make you feel like I'm normal."

Lip tensed up but Mickey smiled and ran a hand up Ian's bicep, rubbing his back briefly and then resting his palm on the back of Ian's neck. Lip watched, stunned, as Ian visibly relaxed beneath his touch. Mickey looked at Lip. "Fucker's confident, right? Shows up where I'll be with a sleeve of condoms and enough meds to last him a week. No clothes, mind you, but a shit ton of condoms."

Lip and Ian laughed helplessly at Mickey, and Lip was grateful for Mickey's social graces for the first time in his life. "I should have told you Mickey was out months ago. I didn't know that…I didn't know."

"It's probably better this way," Mickey said, shrugging. "We would have spent all our time fucking and I would have gotten kicked out of the program and sent back to prison or something. At least now I've got a good start on everything and we can hang out full time over Christmas break."

"Yeah, I can't bring myself to be upset about anything that brought me here," Ian said. He looked over at Mickey again and this time Lip did sort of feel like he was intruding.

He cleared his throat. "You think they're ever going to bring us our food?"


End file.
